


Copper Plated Carnations

by GALEXY



Series: Gardens Bursting Into Life [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Coma, F/M, Folklore Professor Bog, Getting to Know Each Other, Hospitalization, Tattoo Artist Marianne, car crash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-09-11 23:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GALEXY/pseuds/GALEXY
Summary: Bog and Marianne are in a car accident together, and while Marianne comes out with more than a few minor injuries, Bog is left in a coma. Feeling responsible, Marianne takes it upon herself to keep him company until he wakes up.Basically, I listened to "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol A LOT and now we have this.





	1. Antirrhinum

Marianne is running so late. Her alarm didn’t go off _again_ —and she was getting far too good at sleeping through Roland getting ready in the morning to wake up with him anymore.

She’s raking her fingers through her hair in an effort to make it somewhat presentable while she brushes her teeth.

Why did Stuff book her first appointment right at shop opening? Why didn’t she leave Marianne the usual fifteen minutes to get her area organized?

She shook her head, smudging eyeliner on before tugging on a clean shirt.

It wasn’t Stuff’s fault she was running late. The last thing Marianne needed was to go into the shop grumpy. No one wanted to be tattooed by someone who was grumpy.

She’s shrugging on a coat and is nearly out the door when Lizzie, her little Iguana that wasn’t so little anymore, comes toddling across the back of the couch—her yellow eyes big and sad.

“What is it, Lizzie?” She holds her hand out and Lizzie makes a sound low in her throat as she buts her head into Marianne’s palm.

Marianne looks at the counter and sees that Lizzies food bowl is completely empty—which it shouldn’t be, because Lizzie is the slowest eating lizard Marianne has ever seen.

“Did Roland forget to feed you again?”

Lizzie makes another low sound and toddles back, her eyes still wide and yellow. The blue splotch under her eye contrasts sharply against the gold.

Marianne sighs and goes to the fridge, pulling out Lizzie’s bag of kale and shredded carrots.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. It’s coming.”

Lizzie makes the journey over to the counter, wriggling happily as Marianne puts her food out and refills her water bowl.

“There we go.” Marianne smiles and pats Lizzies head again before heading towards the door. “Behave yourself!”

It’s nice to see that her snapdragons are still faring well against this cold. She trots down the steps,

“Good morning, Marianne!” Her neighbor called over the hedges between their houses.

“Morning, Plum!”

“Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“Running late for work!” She called back, opening her car door and climbing in.

“Be careful, dear, the weather said there might be ice later this evening.”

“Thanks, Plum! I’ll watch out!” and she slams her door shut and starts the car before her neighbor can say anything else. Marianne loves Plum, she does, but she really doesn’t have time to chat right now.

She starts the car and pulls out of the drive.

The radio blared her usual classic rock station as she drove, Foghat’s “I Just Want to Make Love to you” coming in loud and clear. She drums on the steering wheel with her thumbs as she makes her way through town.

She parks behind the tattoo parlor and climbs out of her car—pulling her coat tight around her.

 _Swallowtail Inkspirations_ smiles down at her in royal blue neon. She pulls the door open and finds Stuff—and her client—waiting inside.

“Oh, we were beginning to wonder if you were going to show up today.” Stuff looks up from her appointment book.

If there’s anything to be said about Stephanie “Stuff” Trow, its that Marianne thinks she’s an absolute badass—her head shaved and tattoos creeping along her skull like scales in violets and greens. She met Stuff back when she was training up—they’d shared in tattoo master, even, which made her almost as much of Marianne’s sister as Dawn was. They’d opened up shop together two years ago, and honestly, the past two years had been some of the best in Marianne’s life, thanks to her partner in crime.

“Alarm didn’t go off.” Marianne shrugged off her coat.

“That’s the third time in two weeks.”

“Please don’t remind me.” Marianne turned and smiled at the girl in their sitting area. “If you’ll give me just a few minutes, Maxine, I’ll get my area all set up and we can get your stencil fit and get started.”

The girl nods, excitement still poking in on her cheeks. Marianne’s grateful for that. Having an irritated canvas was the actual worst.

Marianne gets her station all set up and calls Maxine back. She holds still while Marianne places the stencil—a geometric longhorn beetle she’d drawn up for the girl a week earlier. It’s different from her usual work. Geometric isn’t her usual schtick, but she figures she might as well branch out and try something new now and again.

Either way, Maxine loves it, grinning down at the pale blue lines of the stencil against her ribs.

“Look okay there?” Marianne asks.

Maxine nods. “I already love it.”

She lays on the table for Marianne, tucking her earbuds in before curling on her side and laying still for Marianne.

The buzz of the needle starts comfortably in Marianne’s hand. She feels her tongue poke out of the corner of her mouth and she smiles and gets to work.


	2. Crataegus

Professor Bog King’s classroom is more than half empty today. It isn’t entirely unexpected—he’d watched the weather this morning and was surprised when he’d gotten and email form the dean informing him that yes, campus would, in fact, still be open today, and that it would be ill-advised to cancel any classes.

Clearly, it wouldn’t make a lick of difference if most of his students didn’t show up, anyways. He’d intended on starting their new lecture over Nuckelavee, but he didn’t see much of a point, so he decided to continue the discussion they’d been having on Kelpies. He wasn’t keen on the idea of the class being a lecture behind, but if he’d started, then half of the class would be lost anyways.

Why hadn’t they just closed campus today was completely beyond him. The discussion had started to die down anyway, so he ended up just letting them all go a bit early to either go home or mill around Dieter Hall until their next abysmal class started.

He’s on his way back to his office when one of the girls catches him by the elbow.

“Professor King?”

He turns and nearly sighs in relief.

It’s only Dawn—her unruly blonde hair poking out from beneath her pale blue toboggan.

“Yes, what is it Miss Fairfield?”

“Would you mind looking at my paper for me before I head home?” She’s digs through her bag a moment before producing a small stack of papers held together by a binder clip the same color as her hat. “It’s not done yet, but I want to make sure I’m on the right track.”

He slides the paper from her fingers and looks at the title.

“You’re writing about hawthorn?”

She nods.

“I think I can spare a few moments. Do you mind if we discuss in my office?”

“That’s fine.”

She smiles and trails down the hall behind him. They weave through the dimly lit halls of Dieter Hall before coming to his office. He swears it used to be a broom closet—the windowless musty room tucked back behind all the history professors’ offices. That’s what being the only folklore professor at Forrest University will get you.

“Just make yourself comfortable.” He weaves his way through stacks of books until he gets to his desk, clicking on his lamp. He looks over and Dawn is still standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot like she’s worried the whole office will cave in on itself if she dares to step inside. He can’t say he blames her.

“Dr. Browns might have a chair in her office you can borrow.”

“I’m fine, really.” She grins before plopping herself down cross-legged in the doorway.

He plucks a pen from his cup. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Please.” She sets her hands on her knees. “I need all the help I can get.”

He almost laughs. Dawn is one of his best students, which absolutely kills him because she’s not even in this department. Dawn Fairfield is a drama major, but her passion in all of her papers and projects she’s done for his class just amaze him. They’re never a chore to grade.

“This is an astounding paper so far, Miss Fairfield.”

“Are you sure?” She cranes her neck up to look. “I feel like I don’t have enough information about modern uses. I mostly talk about it from its historical and mythological routes, but I really feel like talking about modern uses would round out the paper.”

“I really like what you’re doing with this so far. But if you’re wanting something about modern application…” He gets up and starts looking through some of his stacks. It takes him a moment, but he finally unearths the books he needs. “I think you might find these useful.”

He hands her a stack of four books—three glossy paperbacks and one of his more ancient tomes bound in leather.

“You’ll really let me borrow these?”

“On one condition.”

She looks up at him from the books, eyes wide as she nods.

“We _must_ sit down and talk about undergraduate research journals. You’re writing is very strong, especially for someone who doesn’t even work in this field traditionally. It would be a waste not to use your skills to your advantage.”

She looks at the books again and nods. “Okay. We can talk about that once it’s done.”

He smiles. “I trust you’ll take good care of them while you finish writing your paper.”

She grins, and her cheeks light up. She looks like she wants to hug him. She doesn’t. “Thank you so much, Professor King.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss Fairfield, really. Just remember what I said.” He tucks her paper with his minimal comments into her stack of books.

“I will!” She stands and pulls her books into her arms. “I’ll see you next class!”

He gives her a wave and then he’s alone with a stack of papers to grade. Since he is the only folklore professor, they end up giving him intro to mythology classes a lot…which he hates, especially those damn Greeks and Romans, because that’s all _any_ freshman wants to hear about. Sometimes it feels like he went through his thesis and dissertation in Celtic and Gaelic mythology for nothing more than a piece of paper. He hadn’t had time to produce a new full body of work in over a year—these days it was mostly just a paper or two. It was enough to keep him afloat, but he really hated teaching in the middle of Nowhere, Minnesota.

He’s halfway through his stack when his mother calls, reminding him that he needs to pick her up from the house so he can take her grocery shopping.

“Yes, mom. Yes, I remember. I have just a few more essays and—Mother, I’m sure the turnips will still be there when I get off work.”

He still isn’t through the stack when she calls a second time.

“Alright, alright. I’m leaving now. Yes. Yes, I’ll make sure the heat is on.”

He looks at the stack of essays on the desk and sighs. They’ll have to wait until tomorrow, he supposes. He never manages to get anything done at home.

How pathetic he must seem to have a PhD and live with his mother.

He gathers up his things, tugging on his coat and heading out to his car. As he pulls out of the parking lot, the ice has just started to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, it's Bog being...well, Bog.


	3. Papaver

The rest of the day in the shop is pretty tame after that. Maxine leaves happy, even gives a nice tip, which Marianne always appreciates. She has a couple of girls come in to get friendship tattoos—nothing too interesting, just some infinity signs. Part of Marianne can’t wait for that trend to die, but she kind of thinks they’re cute. Not enough for her to get one herself, but she’s always thought friendship tattoos were cute. She did one for Sunny and Dawn a while back—a little rising sun on their inner wrists with three little birds flying alongside it.

Her father had been so angry at her for giving Dawn a tattoo, but Dawn was a big girl, she could take care of herself. Plus, Marianne thought it was pretty awesome that her sister was officially de-virginized to the ink world, even if she swore she’d never _ever_ let anyone near her with a tattoo gun again.

 _Once was enough, thank you_.

“Hey, this storm is looking pretty bad.” Stuff says from the window. She’s got her arms folded over her chest, looking up at the sky. “Is it cool if I take off early? I don’t have anything else today.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Marianne looks out and, shit, the weather is starting to look pretty gnarly. “I just have one last appointment, and then I’ll be heading out, too.”

“Drive safe, M.”

“You too, Stuff. I’ll see you Monday.”

The bell on the door jingles as Stuff shuts the door behind her. Marianne wipes down her station and looks at the stencil for her next piece.

The door swings open and she looks up, smiling.

“Hi, you must be Jules?”

The blonde guy nods, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Why don’t you sign in that booklet and I’ll get a copy of your ID made. Then we can get started.

“Sure.”

It takes Marianne a couple times to get the stencil placed just right on his forearm. When he’s happy with it, she starts going.

“So, why a poppy?”

“My grandfather was a veteran.”

She nods and keeps going, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Flowers are what Marianne is best at. She loves putting texture into the petals; loves watching the plants come to life on people’s skin. It’s why she got into this in the first place.

“Wow.” Jules smiles while he looks at the finished tattoo. “It looks so good.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let me get you all wrapped and set up with an aftercare kit, and you’ll be on your way.”

He nods and lets her take a picture to put in her portfolio before getting him all cleaned up.

The ice is _really_ coming down by the time she’s ready to close up the shop. She’s half considering just sleeping on the couch here—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that. But Roland had said something about some kind of date-night-in thing. He’d be mad if she missed out, it wouldn’t be the first time _that_ had happened.

She finishes cleaning everything and packing up. When she opens the front door to the shop, the wind almost throws her back inside. She huffs and forces the door open. As soon as she’s out, the wind slams it shut behind her.

She only huffs and looks up at the sky.

“Really feeling rebellious today, aren’t we?”

She locks up the shop and stalks out to her car. The wind almost bowls her over once at twice. Her cheeks are stinging with it by the time she gets in the car.

“Fuck.” She sighs, leaning back in her seat. She lets the car turnover and waits for the defroster to kick on.

“Well folks, I hope you’re generators are hooked up, because it’s looking like we’ve got a doozie moving right in through the state—pretty nasty winter mix blowing through with near thirty mile per hour winds. Power is already out in parts of Becker, Douglas, Grant, Pope, Stevens, and Todd county, and while power companies are in the works of getting the power back on, there’s just no surefire say until this weather clears up.”

“Jesus, everyone’s acting like we’ve never seen a storm before.” Marianne rubs her hands together before pulling out of the parking lot, taking it easy as the winds rush against her car.

 _“Take me out tonight / Where there's music and there's people / And they're young and alive / Driving in your car / I never never want to go home / Because I haven't got one / Anymore_.” Morrissey’s voice moans through the radio and Marianne can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Fucking, the Smiths.”

She shakes her head and keeps driving. This station is the best in the morning, but when the evening hits, whoever they turn it over to had the _worst_ taste. It’s like he plays the same ten songs all the time, and they all sound the same.

 _“Take me out tonight / Because I want to see people and I / Want to see life / Driving in your car / Oh, please don't drop me home / Because it's not my home, it's their / Home, and I'm welcome no more_.”

The ice is coming down harder now that Marianne is out of town and on one of the backroads. She has to lean forward and squint. In reality, she should probably just turn the stupid radio off, but she’s always hated driving in silence. Stupid Morrissey and his stupid depressing voice was just going to have to get her through it.

 _“And if a double-decker bus / Crashes into us / To die by your side / Is such a heavenly way to die / And if a ten-ton truck / Kills the both of us / To die by your side / Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine_.”

Marianne doesn’t even know when the car started to slide. She can’t tell if it’s from the wind or the ice or what, but her car is sliding and weaving all over the place. And then something…something hits her. Because she can hear the metallic crunch, hear the glass shattering from her window.

She screams, but it sounds wrong in her throat like it’s not even coming from her. She hits her head on the steering wheel, maybe that’s why she doesn’t remember how she got in the ditch.

Nothing hurts right now, but that isn’t exactly a good sign. She can’t feel her right arm—her tattooing arm—but she can’t make herself look to see if it’s bad.

What the hell did she even hit?

But it’s hard to think because for some reason, the radio is still working, and Morrisey’s voice is still moaning it’s way over the speakers.

But she can’t move her arm to turn it off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I actually really like that song by The Smiths. Also, the next chapter is basically word vomit.


	4. Juniperus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter is really confusing and word vomit-y.

Bog can’t seem to open his eyes. He can’t feel much either. He doesn’t remember much, just that he was driving.

His mother wanted to go to the store, and he was on his way to pick her up. He was listening to the Def Leppard album his mother had gotten him last Christmas—“Rock of Ages” blaring through his little car.

But now all he can hear is The Smith’s for some reason. Oh, god, he hates this song. His roommate in undergrad loved The Smiths, and they got on his nerves just as much back then.

Seriously, where the hell is that coming from? Not from his radio, surely.

Something behind his head feels cold. The air smells like juniper trees.

He wonders where he is, but his eyes are still refusing to cooperate. He can’t feel his toes at all, pins and needles working up and down his arms and his legs.

And then, blessedly, that music stops, but nothing comes to replace it, so he’s stuck with the echo of _there is a light that never goes out_ bouncing around in his skull while the world stops smelling like juniper and starts smelling a lot more like antiseptics and linoleum.

He thinks he can hear this woman humming, like a lullaby or some kind of other song that he can’t quite place.

He remembers his mother telling him tales of Mara when he was a child—these beautiful women that prayed on men when they slept and gave them nightmares.  Maybe the humming woman was something like that.

He wanted to care, he did, but he mostly felt like his brain was full of cotton now—his arms and legs still doing the pins and needles thing, but all of it was too heavy to move.

And then he hears Christmas music, of all things.

“This is almost as bad as The Smiths.” He thinks to himself. When his eyes come back, he’s somewhere dark and green—he can hardly see what’s around him. It just smells like rubbing alcohol. He can’t move, only stand there in the weird green-black-Christmas music hell his brain has conjured up.

Maybe he fell through one of those interdimensional holes Ambrose Bierce wrote about—that sort of made sense. He was driving home and fell into an interdimensional rift that’s dark and plays Christmas music for some reason.

He’s tired, suddenly. Or maybe he’s been tired this whole time. He isn’t sure.

But his brain feels like it’s full of cotton again, and before he know it, he’s sinking into this place that’s nowhere at all, but smells like anesthetics.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for that. The next chapter will be quite a bit more coherent. I'll try to update soon.


	5. Lilium

Marianne remembers seeing the inside of an ambulance once before today. Some paramedics and fire fighters came to her elementary school when she was nine. In addition to letting the kids take turns spraying the fire hose, they also let all of them look at what the inside of an ambulance looked like. They hadn’t been allowed to go in, of course, but she remembers thinking about how weird it was to have so many things in such a small space.

It turns out that when you ride in one as an adult, that feeling is amplified by about a thousand.

Marianne feels so claustrophobic while she rides in the back, swaying with the motion of turns. They don’t make her lay down as long as she stays on the stretcher, so she sits up, cradling her arm to her chest.

There was a second ambulance at the crash site, but it left before they even got Marianne out of her car—her door had locked itself into its frame and she ended up having to crawl out through the hatchback, which wasn’t easy with one arm.

The paramedic says that her shoulder is dislocated, but he doesn’t want to try to pop it back in to place for her in the ambulance. She’s having a hard time focusing. The guy was shining a light into her eyes before too. He said she might be concussed but she can’t really remember.

She doesn’t remember the transition from the ambulance to the hospital, but she does remember them popping her shoulder and elbow back into place. _That_ hurt.

But then she’s in a hospital bed with her arm in a sling and bandages on her face. She blinks slowly, trying to adjust to the dim light of the room. It’s dark outside now, snow piled up in the corners of the window outside like dust.

There’s a vase full of white lilies on the table next to her bed. It’s weird that those are there—she hasn’t been here that long, has she?

She can hear someone talking on the phone, but her head is too heavy to lift, so she’ll just have to wait. She can hear Christmas music playing somewhere in the hallway—maybe at the nurse’s station or something.

The person talking on the phone is still somewhere in the room—the voice low and whispering and familiar.

She tries to make a sound in her throat, to get whoever’s attention that it is. Something scratchy sounding comes out, but she thinks she succeeds when she hears Roland’s:

“Marianne?”

She tries to make another noise but he’s already rounding the bed, hanging up his call, and coming to sit at the chair near her bed.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake.”

She blinks, trying to bring him into focus. He’s still in suit from work. How long has he been here? How long was she out?

 “What were you thinking, taking the backroads in a storm like that? You’re lucky it wasn’t any worse than a few scrapes, and concussion, and banged up arm.”

She opens her mouth to talk, but her ears are ringing. Concussion indeed. She’d had one a few years back when some guy had been getting a little to fresh with Dawn at their local bar. He’d gotten a shot or two in, but Marianne had totally won. It was worth it, because the guy never bothered Dawn again.

But Roland is still talking, something about how worried he was, how the stress was going to make him break out, that thing he does where he keeps circling back to himself. Marianne’s used to this—he does it all the time—so she just sits and looks at him until he’s done.

Apparently her face translates waiting as “confused” or “sorry” when she’s this drugged up, because when he looks back at her once he stops talking he gives her a shy smile and pats her knee.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. The doctor’s said the bandages should come off your face, soon. And there won’t be any scarring or disfigurement, so that’s great.”

She moves her left arm slowly and comes up to touch her face. She can feel the needle in it that must be hooked up to some machine. There’s gauze taped across her left cheek.

“They said it was pretty cut up from the glass.”

Marianne lowers her hand down and stares at it.

“M’head feels funny.”

“They gave you something for your shoulder and elbow, I think. The doctor said it was popped out of place.”

She nods in agreement, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the pillow.

“Hurts.”

“I can call the nurse for some more painkillers.”

She goes to shake her head but he’s already pressing the call button. It’s so hard to make her mouth work—it’s dry.

“Didchyu…” she swallows. “Didchyu bring flowers?”

“What?” He looks. “Oh, yeah, those were for date night, but things changed.”

She want to thank him, or at least apologize for totally ruining date night, but then the nurse is there pumping her full of something that makes her sink back into unconsciousness.

When she wakes back up, Roland is gone. Sunlight is shining in through the windows and her head feels less fuzzy.

The accident, right. She’d been driving up Thornhill pass while that stupid The Smiths song played in the background and…something had gone wrong. It was really blurry, like someone had scooped holes from the memory. The remembered her car spinning until it landed in the ditch. Remembered her window breaking and the glass hitting her in the face. Remembers them popping her shoulder and elbow back into place.

She sees the flowers and smiles. Right, Roland came to visit last night, too. He must’ve been worried.

There’s still snow piled up in the windows. The weather probably hasn’t let up all that much.

“Ah, Ms. Fairfield, how are we feeling?”

She turns and there’s a Doctor standing in the doorway, holding a clipboard. His tie is…really ugly. There’s no other way to say that—green and brown polka dots. But he looks friendly enough.

“I’m okay, I think.”

“Any…” He holds his hand up to the side of his head, wiggling his fingers. “No vision problems?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. Good. I’m Dr. Thane Kobold. It’s nice to see you awake and lucid.”  He steps father into the room, looking over the papers on his clipboard. “You took quite a spill—concussion, legions to the face, dislocated elbow and shoulder. You’re very lucky.”

She nods, blinking like she’s still confused.

“With any luck, we’ll have you out of here tomorrow. We just want to make sure that concussion is cleared before then.”

She nods again. “What about my arm? I’m a tattoo artist.”

He smiles at her apologetically. “Looks like you’ll be out of commission for a few weeks at least. I’m sorry.  You’ll have to keep it immobilized best you can for at least two weeks. After that, it can take around ten more weeks to heal completely. So, you won’t be able to do any activity or strenuous activity—including sitting hunched over for long periods like you’d need to be for your work.”

She wants to huff and be mad about it, but then something else hits her.

“What about the other car? Is anybody else hurt?”

“Let’s just focus on your recovery right now, Ms. Fairfield. If you’d like, in a few hours, one of out nurses will be out to walk you around the wing if you like.”

Marianne nods and leans back in her bed. Dr. Thane leaves and she closes her eyes. She hopes Stuff or Dawn or Sunny comes by later. She’ll get bored if left to her own devices. She finds the remote for the tv on the table near the flowers. She picks it up and starts flipping through channels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking Sunny and Dawn will be making appearances next chapter--not sure yet. Hopefully that will be up soon. We've entered the warzone that is finals week and it's taking a lot of willpower not to totally lose my mind.


	6. Gladiolus

Dawn stops by the flower shop before she goes to the hospital to visit Marianne. Since campus is closed, she spends her morning getting ready nice and slow—milling around the apartment she and Sunny share. After she gets dressed, she heads down through the bookstore Sunny owns below the apartment. Of course, rather than going around the checkout counter, she just swings her legs over like always.

            “Try not to slip on anything!” Sunny calls from one of the shelves as he restocks.

“I’ll be careful!” She calls back before being on her way. She picks up a bundle of white, yellow, and orange gladioluses before she starts on her walk towards the hospital. Everything in town is pretty close, so it doesn’t take her long to get there.

She rocks up and down on her toes while she takes the elevator up to the sixth floor. The wing of the hospital is mostly quiet—soft music playing from the nurses’ station.

Roland said Marianne was in room 614 down the hall. Dawn tucks her hands into her pockets while she walks, keeping her flowers in the crook of her arm. She’s about halfway there when the label under the plaque for 608 catches her attention:

Bog King.

Surely, it’s not…

She can’t help but poke her head in and she can’t help but gasp.

It is professor King—all bandaged up, tube in his throat, one of his legs propped up in a sling. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but it hardly takes her a moment to realize she’s not alone.

“Can I help you with something?”

There’s a woman in the corner of the room, sitting next to Professor King’s bed. She looks tired—her eyes are puffy with dark circles creeping up from the bottom.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I was just here to see my sister, and I saw the sign and…” She bites her lip, thinking for a second. “Professor King teaches my Intro to Folklore Seminar. I didn’t know he was in the hospital.”

The woman’s face softens. She stands up and smiles, coming closer.

“I’m Griselda, his mother.”

“Dawn.” She holds her hand out to shake, offering her best smile, given the circumstances. “Is Professor King going to be okay?”

“We sure hope so.” Griselda shuffles further back into the room, heading back for her chair, almost as if she’ll collapse if she keeps standing. “The Doctor’s reset all his breaks last night, and it looks like they should heal okay, but only time will tell. It’s just a matter of him waking up at this point.”

Dawn nods, not sure if she should come any further into the room.

“Is it alright if I asked what happened?”

“What always happens this time of year—ice. Had an accident up on Thornhill Pass, slid right off the road and into another car. I’ve told him a thousand times not to drive up there, especially when the weather gets like this but…well, he gets his stubbornness from his father.”

“My sister was in an accident up on Thornhill Pass yesterday.” Dawn says without thinking.

“Right, you’re sister.” Griselda nods. “You better go to see her. That’s who you came to see, right?”

Dawn nods. “Um, Miss Griselda?”

“Hm?”

“Can you…” Dawn clears her throat. “Here are some flowers, for the room. I was going to give them to Marianne, I think I…um…Professor King is such a great professor and…”

Griselda is smiling at her.

“That’s fine, dear. Just put them over there, in that vase.”

Dawn nods, shuffling awkwardly into the room before picking up the vase on the bedside and filling it up. When she replaces it, she spares another glance at Professor King and tears prick her eyes again. She’s probably just being oversensitive.

“I hope he gets well soon.”

“Me too.” His mother sighs before giving Dawn another smile. “Thank you for the flowers dear. They’re lovely.”

Dawn nods before shuffling from the room and heading back towards Marianne’s.

This is weird, right? She thinks to herself as she walks. I mean, what are the odds that it’s even the same accident. People wreck on Thornhill Pass all the time. That’s why the police keep trying to close the road off.

She finds Marianne sitting up in bed cross-legged with half a cup of orange jello in front of her.

“Aww, what gives, no lime?”

Marianne turns to look at her and her face immediately softens. “Hey, Dawn.”

Dawn crosses into the room with ease and takes the chair Roland occupied the night before, tucking her legs under herself to mirror Marianne.

“Do you need help eating that, or…?” Dawn eyes Marianne’s sling. Marianne only rolls her eyes.

“I can feed myself, Dawn. I’m not an infant.”

“Just thought I’d ask.” Dawn laughs, smiling. “Is it broken?”

“My elbow and shoulder dislocated.” Marianne shrugs with her good shoulder. “Doctor says it could take a few weeks to heal.”

“Hey, that’s not so bad.”

“I can’t tattoo while it heals.”

“No, but it could have been a lot worse. You should have seen—” Dawn stops herself and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“Seen who, Dawn? You’re acting weird.”

“Oh, it’s probably just a coincidence.” She turns and looks at the vase. “Oh, I didn’t know someone had sent flowers.”

“Roland brought them last night.” Marianne spoons some jello into her mouth. “He said they were for date night.”

“Wasn’t he planning something?”

Marianne nods. “I feel bad about it. He probably put a lot of thought into it, and then here I go, fucking it up.”

“You didn’t mess anything up. It’s not like you wrecked on purpose.”

Marianne turns the plastic spoon in her cup. “He was acting kind of weird last night, like, I was pretty concussed, but something felt off about him.”

Dawn shrugs even though she knows. Roland had been planning on proposing to Marianne. He’d talked to their father earlier that month—well, technically he was Marianne’s step-father, but no one really bothers to try to make the distinction any more—and he’d given Roland his blessing. And Dawn wanted to be happy, but she also knew that Marianne didn’t exactly believe in marriage. She didn’t know how her sister would respond to something so formal.

“Oh, could you remind him to feed Lizzie tonight? My phone was obliterated in the crash, and the new one is still up in the air. He said he might come by later, but you know how he forgets.”

“He and that iguana.” Dawn shakes her head. “How long has that war been going on?”

“I’m not sure. They’ve never gotten along, but now he just ignores her. It makes her petty. She keeps knocking his hair products onto the floor.”

Dawn can’t help but laugh at the image of Lizzie swishing her tail around and knocking Roland’s stuff onto the floor.

“I’ll make sure he feeds her.”

Marianne smiles and scoots her jello cup away. “Thanks, Dawn.”

They get quiet for a few minutes. Marianne is watching some Christmas Comedy. Dawn looks up at the screen a moment, lost in thought.

“Hey, Marianne?”

“Yeah?”

“What did the other car look like? Do you remember?”

“Uh.” Marianne adjusts, stretching her legs out and tucking her toes under the blanket on her bed. “I don’t know, Dawn. I don’t really remember.”

Dawn nods.

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“Dawn.”

“Okay!”

Marianne can’t help but smirk. Dawn has always been a powderpuff, but she especially is with Marianne. She can’t hide anything from her sister.

“It’s just, there has to have been more than once accident up on Thornhill yesterday, right?”

“I mean, maybe, why?”

“Because, I…before I came in here, I stopped in a room down the hall, and my professor was there.”

“Your professor?”

“Yeah, the cool one that teaches Scots-Gaelic myth. He orders all the books from Sunny’s shop.”

Marianne nods. “Right, You told me about him.”

“But his mom said he was in an accident yesterday, too, up that way. And…I mean that’s just weird, right? Like, no way that it’s the same one.”

Marianne gets quiet, picking at a loose thread on her blanket. “Yeah…No way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaayy! Look at that! Sorry that took so long. This week has been a weird fog of too-fast-too-slow. I'm so grateful for all the feedback I've been getting! Thanks so much, you guys! I think we should get some actual interaction between our two lovely main characters in the next chapter! This is a real treat to work on...so I hope you guys keep reading and enjoying it! I'll try to get another update posted before new years, fingers crossed.
> 
> -GALEXY
> 
> follow me on tumblr: @galxynightlight


	7. Paeonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credit: "Love of my Life" by Queen

Waiting on Roland to show up with clothes is excruciating. She should have asked Dawn to do it, but she’s got a test today in improv—Marianne has no idea how you test in improv, but it sounded important.

Roland said he’d be here at noon, but it was ten ‘til two now. His meeting must’ve run late. Marianne is sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, swinging her feet above the floor. The nurse said she could go on a walk, she was just waiting for her to bring her a robe to cover her backside. Honestly, hospital gowns were the worst.

“Here you are, Ms. Fairfield.” The nurse helps her wrap the robe around her shoulders and tie it. “Would you like any assistance?”

“I can handle it.” Marianne grins, pulling herself up with her good arm, and taking hold of her IV pole. “Thanks.”

“Just stay in the ward, alright? You said your boyfriend would be here soon?”

“Um, yeah. He’s supposed to be.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here before too long.”

Then the nurse leaves Marianne alone. She doesn’t have a hard time walking—her legs are just a little stiff from sitting so long. She heads down one end to look out the window, but something stops her.

“Love of my life, you've hurt me / You've broken my heart and now you leave me / Love of my life, can't you see? / Bring it back, bring it back / Don't take it away from me, because you don't know / What it means to me”

She knows that song. Her mom used to sing it to her when she was little, and every now and then she caught her dad listening to it. She turned the other way, walking towards the sound of the music.

“Love of my life, don't leave me / You've stolen my love, you now desert me / Love of my life, can't you see? / Bring it back, bring it back / Don't take it away from me / Because you don't know / What it means to me”

She passes one of those hospital paintings—one of those large and horrible things they use up to break up the dreadful white of the walls. It’s a peony—pink-orange and unfurling. She keeps walking and finds the room the music is spilling from. It’s a hospital room, with the blinds open.

“You will remember / When this is blown over / Everything's all by the way / When I grow older / I will be there at your side to remind you / How I still love you / I still love you”

The man in the hospital bed looks rough. He’s got a tube in his mouth—a ventilator helping him breath. One of his legs is up in a sling. He’s got scrapes on his face, held together by little butterfly closures. The music is coming from a phone propped up on the pillow next to him.

“Oh, hurry back, hurry back / Don't take it away from me / Because you don't know what it means to me / Love of my life / Love of my life / Ooh, eh / alright”

There’s a woman sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading a magazine. She looks up at Marianne through the blinds and offers a wave. Marianne waves back.

“There you are.”

She startles when she find Roland standing next to her, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I figured you couldn’t have gotten far. The nurse said you went on a walk.”

She nods. When she looks back through the window, the woman has gone back to reading her magazine.

“Come on, buttercup. Let’s get dressed and take you home. Lizzie misses you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be updated before new years, but then I got sick and had a party, and I'm still kind of sick, but hey, here's the chapter! It's the first thing I've written in the new year, and I'm sorry it's so short. Hopefully I'll have another written, too. I'm not quite sure how many more chapters are here in the first part. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Best,  
> GALEXY
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @galxynightlight


	8. Freesia

Bog is in a forest. The trees rise up into the sky forever, fog rolling thick through the air. The ground is covered in snow, but for some reason, he isn’t cold.

There’s not much to do but walk, he supposes, so that’s what he does. All he has on him is his bag from work, full of books and student papers.

He thinks he recognizes the forest. A place his mother had taken him camping when he was younger—the Caledonian Forest. Of course, it’s winter now, not summer. The forest is much quieter than he remembers—the snow having driven most of the animals into hibernation or migration. There’s just the sound of his shoes crunching against the snow. And the smell of freesia for some reason—like his mother’s perfume—even though it’s winter and he should only be able to smell snow and evergreen trees.

Sometimes he hears music—Christmas carols, soft rock ballads—a weird conglomeration of music he hates and music he loves. But he knows better than to follow the sound of music in the forest.

He keeps walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly short chapter (Bog's chapter's are especially short and weird right now). I already have ideas for the next one, and I should be able to have it out relatively soon (I'd like to get it out before I head back to school on Sunday if I can). I truly appreciate all of the kind words I've been getting. You all are so kind ^^. I'll have more out as soon as I can.
> 
> -GALEXY
> 
> follow me on tumblr @galxynightlight


	9. Ilix

It was like the town had up and decided to decorate for Christmas overnight. Marianne has her legs curled up as she lets her eyes trace lampposts and shop windows while they drive.

“Christmas really snuck up on us this year,” Marianne says, turning to look at Roland. He turns into their subdivision, but the Christmas decorations keep right on coming.

“It’s December 17th now, Babe.”

“It seems like Thanksgiving just happened.” She leans back in her seat. “I’m not ready to see all of my crazy relatives again. They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you, Darlin’.”

“They like you better than me.” She rolls her eyes. Roland had gone into her family business right after college—helping manage the car dealership her father owned. Neither of his daughters were interested in sales, so he’d taken a liking to Roland. He liked that Roland and Marianne were together. The rest of her family liked him, too. He fit in, knew how to talk. Marianne didn’t—with all her tattoos, liberal views, and rock music. She was the family rebel, and she hated it.

Roland pulls them into the driveway, getting out and opening Marianne’s door for her. “They just like me because I work for your father. That’s all.”

“Sure.” She shakes her head and heads inside. Her snapdragons have burrowed down into the ice. She hopes they’re okay.

There’s a holly wreath on the door.

“Where’d this come from?”

“Dawn brought it by when she reminded me to feed your lizard.” Roland unlocks the door. “She thought you’d like it.”

“Only because it’s her.” Marianne walks in, toeing her boots off. Lizzie creeps up the back of the couch, groaning to make Marianne to look at her.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Marianne scratches under her chin. “Hi. I missed you.”

“She was curled up in the sink this morning.”  Roland sets her lilies on the counter. “Hissed at me when I tried to brush my teeth—I had to do it in the kitchen.”

Marianne laughs. “That’s my girl.”

There are bins of Christmas decorations around the living room, a few half-unpacked, but nothing much. Marianne rounds the couch and sits down, Lizzie dropping down to curl up in her lap.

“I wanted to wait for you to put up the tree.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be much use.” Marianne swings her arm pathetically before sighing. “We could invite Dawn over to do it.”

“Nah. We don’t have to tonight.” He comes to sit down next to her. “We could order take out from that curry place you like. Stay in. Watch a movie. Retry that date night.”

“I don’t know about tonight.” Marianne sighs. “My pain meds make me kind of sleepy. I doubt I’d make it through a movie.”

“That’s alright.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “I just want to spend a little time with you. Work’ll be busy up until Christmas with all the last-minute shoppers, and then right after with any returns and sales. End of the year and all that.”

She goes back to petting Lizzie and nods. “I’ll call Dawn and get decorations put up tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Buttercup.” Roland’s phone rings and he gets up, answering it. “Hello? No, I can talk—” He turns to Marianne. “I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you for dinner.”

She nods and Roland disappears, locking the door behind him. The house is quiet, and suddenly Marianne misses the buzz of the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate how long it took to get this out. There was a bunch of craziness--I graduated from college and then moved into an apartment, and then had to worry about getting a job. I'm fairly settled now, though, so hopefully, I'll start working on this story regularly again. It's one of my favorite projects, and I already have a pretty clear idea of where I'm going with it.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @galxynightlight


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